The Best Policy
by Deanish
Summary: Dean told the truth. Sam didn't. Neither will ever make that mistake again.
1. Boys Meet Girls

Note: OK, if you're reading Fingerprints, don't get mad. I'm not, like, starting a new story and leaving that one hanging. This is for the SFTCOL(AR)S summer secret Santa game, round 2, and it's already all written. And it's not nearly as complicated.

It'll be four chapters, posted as SquareFlea (for whom I am playing Santa) dictates. So I hope she likes it and wants to see the rest.

And thanks to Mazza, who read this (and actually admitted to liking it) even though it's probably not her usual cup of tea.

**Chapter 1: Boys Meet Girls**

_Dean_

The first words he said to her were a lie.

"Hi, I'm Dean Winchester, reporter with _The Athens News_. I was hoping to talk to you about the attack you witnessed last night."

She immediately raised her eyebrows and called him on it.

"Um … No you're not."

That threw him, and he swallowed and blinked a couple of times to give himself time to think.

"I'm not?" he finally ventured.

"No," she said. "You're not. In fact, I bet you've never even read _The Athens News_."

Now that just wasn't true. He'd read it this very morning when his dad handed him a copy of the latest issue over eggs and coffee. Not the whole issue or anything, but he'd read every word of the paper's account of the bizarre string of animal attacks that had culminated the night before in the death of one Ohio U. coed. The attack that one Cassie Robinson had witnessed.

But he couldn't exactly explain all that. Instead he said, "I haven't?" 

Her lips pursed in disdain, and she began to turn away. But she was the only lead they had turned up so far, so Dean couldn't let her do that.

"Wait, wait," he said turning on his most charmingly rueful grin and shrugging self deprecatingly. "What gave it away?"

Either the smile worked or she was the kind of person who liked to show off her superior knowledge, because she gave him a slow once over and began ticking off his mistakes on her fingers.

"Number one, no one calls _The Athens News_, _The Athens News_. It's just the _News_. Number two, the _News_ has a dress code for its employees – ties, no jeans. And number three, I work there. And I think I'd remember seeing you around."

The ruefulness fell out of his grin at that and she was left with just plain charming. "Oh yeah?" he asked, waggling his eyebrows in his most charmingly leering manner. "Like what you see, huh?"

She rolled her eyes but he detected the slightest suggestion of concealed amusement around the corners of her mouth. And he also detected that those corners looked very kissable, which was another good reason to keep talking to her.

"OK," he said, holding his hands up in surrender. "You caught me. I'm not with the _News_. I'm not even a real journalist. Hell, I'm hardly a fake journalist."

"So what are you then?" she asked, a hint of reluctant interest in her eyes. Dean wasn't surprised. Despite what he'd said, he was actually a hell of a fake journalist, and he knew no reporter worth the paper her press credentials were printed on would pass up on that question.

Now if he only had a good answer for it. Honesty, he figured, was probably not the best policy, but a reporter-proof cover story on such short notice might be beyond even his skill level.

"Uh," he said, then decided to go with the least verifiable option. "I came over from Stewart after I read what you said you saw in the paper. It, uh, sounds like something I thought I saw awhile back – something that hurt a friend of mine. And I just wanted to, you know –"

"See if you were crazy?" she finished for him. He almost sighed in relief.

"Yeah, it's pretty weird," she went on. "But I know what I saw."

She said it so fiercely that even if Dean hadn't been predisposed to believe just about anything, he'd have believed her.

"You wanna maybe grab some coffee?" he proposed tentatively. "We can, you know, compare stories. Assure ourselves of our sanity."

The stubborn set her jaw had taken on when talking about the attack eased a little.

"Yeah," she said. "I think that'd be nice."

OOO

_Sam_

The first words he said to her were a lie.

"God, that Degas was brilliant wasn't it?" she asked rapturously.

It wasn't, in Sam's opinion. But she was pretty enough for him to know what the right answer was.

"Oh. Yeah. Wow. Definitely," he affirmed.

She immediately raised her eyebrows and called him on it. "You don't like Degas?" she asked in somewhat incredulous tones.

He fumbled for a moment, searching for a convincing disavowal, but decided at the last minute that honesty might actually be the best policy in this case – or at least a charming one. He gave an apologetic smile and shrugged.

"I think it's all the ballerinas?" he postulated tentatively. "I mean – maybe it's a girl thing?"

She grinned widely at that. "Right," she said. "Because guys have never been able to really appreciate dancers' bodies."

He spluttered, again trying to come up with an answer, and she took pity on him.

"Jessica," she said, sticking her hand out. "Sophomore, studio art, Cottonwood." It was the standard rundown of rank, major and city of origin that college students across the country spend the first few weeks of every semester repeating on endless loop.

"Sam. Sophomore, philosophy/pre-law and Lubbock," he returned in kind.

"Texas?" she asked, scrunching up her nose. "You don't have much of an accent."

"Well, that's where I graduated. But I'd only been there about six months. My family moved around a lot."

"And yet you never made it to Cottonwood. Scandalous oversight by whoever's in charge of my destiny."

He gaped at her in surprise for a solid three seconds before he caught himself and snapped his mouth shut.

"Um," he said, clearing his throat. "Uh. So. Art major? What are you doing slumming it with us non-majors in art appreciation?" 

She smiled knowingly but allowed his clumsy change of subjected. "Dr. Kimmel," she said. "I adore him. He's brilliant. I'm auditing the class just to hear what he has to say about Degas and Rembrandt and all the other standards."

She gave him a sly look out of the corner of her eye as they walked together toward the door to the classroom. "Besides," she said, "I heard it was a good place to meet guys looking to meet girls."

Sam wondered just how red his face was turning. But he couldn't help but grin back a little – though he tried to duck his head and hide it.

"Um," he said again – then had to restrain himself from slapping his forehead at the idiocy of it. "So. Um. Where do you go next?"

"I've got a break until 2:30. You?"

Technically, Sam was scheduled to spend the next hour and a half in ethical theory. But he was already pretty ethical, right? And did he mention that she was _more_ than pretty enough for him to know the right answer?

"Actually, I was heading over to the Daily Grind," he said, thanking the gods of awkward social situations that he managed to get it out without a single 'um' that time. "Want to join me?" 

"Oh," she said innocently. "So you're skipping whatever class you normally have in building 90?"

And Sam was back to gapping and stuttering, which Jessica Moore graciously ignored.

"In that case," she said, "I'd love to join you."


	2. Winchesters In Love

Chapter 2: Winchesters in Love

_Dean_

Here is what Dean knew about Cassie by the end of their first date:

First of all, she did _not_ think it was a werewolf that attacked that girl. She laughed when he threw the word out casually, then looked at him askance when his answering chuckle fell short of genuine. Her theory was that it was an unusually skinny bear, driven out of nearby Strouds State Park in search of food. She suspected mismanagement by the park rangers and was planning to look into it, possibly do an investigative piece on it. Dean could see the Sunday 1A byline shining in her eyes when she talked about it. He almost wished that it was a malnourished grizzly, despite his enthusiasm for a good werewolf hunt.

Because, second of all, Cassie _loved_ her job. Everything about it – the thrill of seeing her name in print, the way the words flowed and fit together in an almost physical way, the adrenaline rush that accompanied a good tip and, most of all, the way she could go home at night, satisfied that she really _was_ making a difference. She was passionate and fearless; she could talk knowledgably about everything from corruption on the Athens City Council, to the civil war in Sudan, to the plight of the American poor. And she wanted to change it all through the power of the press.

Dean believed she could.

But not right now. The third thing Dean learned by the end of their first date was that, while Cassie dreamed of writing for _The New York Times_ – or maybe for the Associated Press as a foreign correspondent – she couldn't see leaving her family like that. New York was 1,013 miles from Cape Giradeau, Missouri, where her parents lived. She knew. She'd Googled it. More than once. More than 10 times, even. And Sudan was even farther. It was hard enough being just these 533 miles away; she was ready to go home for a little while. Which was why she planned to go work for her hometown's weekly for awhile after graduation.

All the talk about family and college brought Sam forcibly to Dean's mind. Cassie noticed the sudden change in his expression and asked, which was how she ended up seeing just a hint of the real Dean by the end of their first date – the one he never bothered showing to the many women he dated.

Almost involuntarily, Dean mentioned his little brother, Sam, in college, easily more than 1,013 miles away. He got a full scholarship to Stanford, and Dean was … proud of him. Though that was sometimes hard to admit. Dean understood her reluctance to leave. He'd foregone college altogether due to similar familial obligations.

"But," he said, more hesitantly than was his wont, "if you didn't want to leave your parents, why come all the way here? There are colleges in Missouri. You could have stayed closer all along."

She didn't seem to need to think about her answer. Perhaps she'd thought about it enough to have it pretty much down.

"A few years ago, about the time I started really thinking about journalism, this school was ranked in the top 10 journalism programs in the country. It's named after one of the major figures in journalism history. Matt Laure, from NBC's News Today, went there. I did my research and figured out this was where I needed to be." She shrugged. "My parents would have been disappointed if I'd given up on my dreams because I was scared to leave home."

Reluctantly, Dean had to admit that maybe he understood that, too.

_Sam_

Here is what Sam knew about Jessica by the end of their first date:

First of all, his status as a pre-law major made him an even better catch than she'd originally suspected based on his tall, dark, handsomeness. Her rebellion didn't quite compare to Sam's, but it turned out her parents weren't exactly 100 percent behind her choice of major. They'd wanted to know their daughter would be able to support herself, if need be, and had pushed for business or, of course, law school. 'Painting is a hobby, not a career,' they said.

But second of all, unlike Sam, she's not in the least bothered by their disapproval. Of course, her family hadn't thrown her out of the house because she didn't give in. She still went to Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners, not to mention Easter brunch and Fourth of July barbeques. But every time she went home, she had to endure more tongue clucking from her mother. Still, she was unapologetic.

"Daddy," she said, "should never have told me I could be anything I wanted to be if he didn't mean it."

She wasn't heartless, though, and presenting them with a pre-law son-in-law would make for a nice consolation prize.

She told Sam this playfully, but he suspected it wasn't entirely in jest – the son-in-law part, not the wanting-a-husband-to-support-her part. She was exactly the kind of girl to give into magical thinking, believe in love at first sight. And he finds himself wanting to believe right along with her. Though he's not quite as prepared as she seems to be to say so out loud.

The first time she fell in love at first sight was in Nice, at the Musee National Message Biblique Marc Chagall, with Cantiques IV – all that red and the beautiful idea of really riding off into the sunset with the man you loved. Even if he does have a green face.

Sam confessed that he had no idea what she was talking about. He'd heard of Chagall , of course, but he'd never been to the Chagall Museum or Nice, or even France. Or, for that matter, even Europe.

Jess was a little appalled – until he explained that he had been to every state in the lower 48. And seen the world's largest ball of twine three times.

"If that's not folk art installation at it's best, I don't know what is," he said, spouting off the statistics he'd memorized at age eight: 17,980 pounds, 144 miles, 40 feet around. He made a good case, and soon Jess was insisting he take her to Cawker City, Kansas, to see it. Sam said that might be a little far, and suggested the world's largest thermometer in Baker, California, instead. Or perhaps the world's largest compass rose at Edward's Air Force Base, the world's largest flag at Moffett Field or the world's largest paper cup in Riverside. Jessica immediately began planning a spring break road trip.

All the talk about road trips and "world's largests" brought Dean forcibly to Sam's mind. Jessica noticed the sudden change in his expression and asked, which was how she ended up seeing just a hint of the real Sam by the end of their first date – the one he tried to keep completely separate from his Stanford life.

Almost involuntarily, he admitted that he hadn't been on a road trip since he got to Stanford. Which might not sound like long, but really was for Sam. He and Dean, his older brother, used to keep a list of all the world's largests they'd seen, but he hadn't seen Dean since his last road trip. Although maybe that was a good thing since Dean would totally be trying to steal Jess away if he was here.

That turned the conversation to big brothers – Jess, it turned out, had two – and their general over protectiveness. Jess warned him that, despite his pre-law credentials, her brothers were not likely to find him suitable for her. Perhaps if he would consider becoming an astronaut or a rock star? One of the dwindling, non-playboy variety, of course. Or maybe if he were elected president … They fought a lot of the choices she made, but she knew it was just their way of showing they cared.

Reluctantly, Sam had to admit he knew that, too.


	3. The Dating Game

Chapter 3: The Dating Game

_Dean_

The fourth date may have been a first for Dean. He wouldn't swear that he'd never been on a fourth date, but if he had, it was back in high school, when they occasionally stayed in one place for so long that he had to recycle girls.

This was not the same.

By the end of their second date, Dean had deduced that, despite her somewhat hippy-fied, save-the-world outlook, Cassie knew how to enjoy a cold beer and a good steak. And she wouldn't be caught dead in Birkenstocks.

On the third, he couldn't quite get her to agree that Zeppelin was the Best. Band. Ever. – though they had a really … rousing debate over it. They actually had a lot of really _rousing_ debates.

But she did know all the words to Stairway to Heaven. And she could list a lot more than just Sweet Home Alabama when quizzed on Lynyrd Skynyrd's top songs. Not that he quizzed her …

But this … This …

"So … Good idea?" she asked slyly, then grinned at what must have been a completely overwhelmed look on his face.

She had just presented him with two tickets to ZZ Top's Columbus, Ohio, show, which started in four hours.

"We should leave now," she told him. "It'll take an hour to get there. Then I expect an awfully good dinner in gratitude. That should leave us just enough time to get to the stadium and grab a T-shirt before the concert starts."

Dean just stared at her, open mouthed. How hard would Sam be laughing at the fact that he'd found a girl willing to go on dates to rockabilly blues concerts with him?

Cassie apparently decided to take his speechlessness as a good sign, because she laughed, threw her arms around his neck and rose to her tiptoes for a kiss. Dean automatically reciprocated, but his mind was racing.

He couldn't just take off for Columbus tonight. He couldn't. He was on a job. Dad was expecting him to take the first watch tonight. The full moon had passed, so they weren't anticipating anything, but they couldn't be _sure_.

Then again … No one besides Dad or Sam had ever given him a present before. And to tell the truth, this was better than most of the things they'd gotten him. 'Course, it was the thought that counted.

Then again, Cassie'd obviously put some thought into this.

And it wasn't like they were expecting trouble that night.

By the time Cassie pulled back and skipped off toward the Impala's passenger door, Dean had made up his mind. He borrowed Cassie's cell phone and quickly dialed the number for John's. Then he thanked his lucky stars when it went to voicemail.

"Uh, Dad?" he questioned the recorded beep. "It's Dean. I'm uh … Something came up? And I'm not going to be able to sit watch tonight. I hope that's all right. Nothing's wrong," he blurted, realizing that his shifty tone might bring John running. "Just, something came up. I'll be home late. Uh. See you then."

He hit end and stared at the phone a moment, wondering what he'd done.

Dean spent that night – that amazing, wonderful night – sneaking speculative glances at Cassie out of the corner of his eye. He was feeling a little bewildered. And the way he couldn't stop looking at her … well, let's just say that if he'd trusted his instincts less, he might have suspected she'd bewitched him somehow.

This … This was different than anything he'd ever experienced. And he wasn't sure what that meant.

That night, after he'd kissed her at her doorstep – he actually _kissed_ her at her _doorstep_; it was after a round of great sex, but still – he experienced yet another first: his first fight with his dad about a girl.

_Sam_

The fourth date may have been a first for Sam.

He certainly couldn't remember discussing the logistics of demonic possession with any of his previous dates. If he had, it was that one time when Bobby had tried to set him up with one of his nieces.

This wasn't the same.

"Doesn't it just give you shivers?" Jess was saying, eyes wide as she moved in for a closer look. Her nose ended up just inches from that of the wild-eyed woman in Peter Paul Rubens' _Possessed_.

The Devils, Monsters and Nightmares exhibit at The Fine Arts Museum of San Francisco had been Jess's idea. She pointed out that it would satisfy one of his extra credit requirements for art appreciation, but he hadn't needed much convincing. How hard would Dean be laughing at the fact that he'd found a girl willing to go on dates to the museum with him?

Now, however, he was wondering if this had been the best idea. Jess took a step back and leaned into Sam. He automatically reciprocated, but his mind was racing.

He couldn't be talking about this here. He couldn't. Possession wasn't part of this life, and he wasn't sure he knew how to talk about it like a normal person would.

"Do you believe in that kind of thing?" Jess asked, turning to face him.

He snuck a surreptitious glance at her out of the corner of his eye, but didn't turn to meet her gaze.

"What? Ghosts and demons and stuff?" he asked, stalling for time.

"Yeah," she answered. "You know – supernatural, paranormal type stuff."

Sam choked on a scoff. "Nah," he said. "I grew out of ghost stories in grade school."

Jess frowned up at him. "Oh come on," she said indignantly. "That's no fun."

"No fun?" he echoed, genuinely surprised.

"Yeah," she insisted. "It's good to let your imagination run away with you sometimes. I'd love to live in a big old haunted house someday. You know? With cold spots and doors that shut on their own every now and then. Haunted houses have _history_."

"You wouldn't be scared?" he asked, carefully neutral.

"Well, yeah," she said, grinning up at him. "But that's the point. You get that nice quivery feeling in your stomach. It's fun to be a little scared sometimes."

She moved on to the next one – Henry Fuseli's _The Nightmare_ – while Sam stayed behind, staring at _Possessed_, thinking about that. About how she had no idea.

He lied to plenty of people – plenty of dates, even – about his real life. He was used to translating traveling ghost hunter into traveling salesman, and poltergeist-broken arm into fell out of a tree.

This, though … This felt different. This was denying something _fundamental_ to who he was. But maybe, for Jess, it was something he was willing to do – to let her hold on to her childish believe in ghosts. To let her hold on to her naïve beliefs about Sam.

And he wasn't sure what that meant.

But that night, after he kissed her on her front step, he experienced another first: For the first time, he really and truly believed he might be able to pull off normal.


	4. Truth and or Consequences

Chapter 4: Truth and/or Consequences

_Dean_

Dean was thinking a lot lately about what Sam would do.

He liked Cassie. Really liked her. Maybe loved her. And he didn't know what to do with that. How could he have a relationship – shit, even the word sounded ridiculous – and hunt at the same time? She wasn't going to buy the usual excuses. If he said he was a traveling salesman, she'd want to know what he was selling. And the next time he came back with a face full of stitches, 'ran into a door' wasn't going to cut it.

The rule was we do what we do and we shut up about it. It was a rule for a reason. But …

Sam would tell her. Sam would spout platitudes like "you can't build a relationship on a lie" and "if she really loves you, it won't matter." And maybe, for once, Dean needed to try to be more like Sam. Maybe Sam was onto something – after all, Sam was the one who didn't seem to be afraid to want to be happy. And, for once, Dean wanted that.

_Sam_

Sam was thinking a lot, lately, about what Dean would do.

He liked Jess. Really liked her. Probably loved her. And he didn't know what to do with that. How could he have a relationship – a real, honest-to-goodness, maybe-start-thinking-about-marriage-soon relationship – and not be honest about who he was? It would be building a relationship on a lie. And really, if she really loved him, it shouldn't matter, right?

He wasn't absolutely sure he was willing to put that theory to the test, however. It sounded good, but that was a lot to ask of love.

Dean wouldn't tell her. Dean would spout pat phrases drilled into him by Daddy Dearest. Like, "we do what we do, and we shut up about it." "It's a rule for a reason," he would say. And maybe, for once, Sam needed to be more like Dean. Maybe Dean knew what he was talking about – after all, Dean was the one who always knew the right thing to say to a woman. And for once, Sam wanted that.

_Dean_

"You what?" Cassie said, looking confused.

"Yeah," Dean sighed. "I thought you might say that."

He and John had finished the hunt last night. Turned out to be not a werewolf, but the ghost of an unusually skinny bear that died of hunger due to mismanagement by park officials. Looked like Cassie might get her front page story after all.

Regardless, it was time to move on. Dad's orders. Dean had only been able to steal the time to say goodbye because the truck had blown a tire during the chase last night, and John had to go buy and install a new one.

So here he was, sitting at her kitchen table. It was now or never, and Dean had chosen now.

Was it too late to change his mind?

"Remember when we first met and I was pretending to be a reporter?"

Cassie nodded slowly.

"And remember how you figured out that I wasn't a reporter, so I told you that, really, I was here because of a friend of mine had been attacked?"

Another nod, even slower.

"And remember how, then, I told you that wasn't true either, and that really I was here because me and my Dad hunt things like ghosts and werewolves and demons, and we thought the thing that you saw might be one?"

She stopped nodding.

"Oh … Did I, uh, forget to mention that last part?" He grinned in what he believed to be a very endearing manner, but she didn't look endeared. In fact, she kinda looked like he'd punched her in the stomach.

Her mouth moved like she was trying out different responses to that, but all that eventually came out was, "What?"

Dean squinted at her and scratched his head, then cleared his throat and averted his eyes – a full circuit through all his usual stalling tactics – before saying, "Yeah."

She did the searching for something to say thing again for a minute. But then something seemed to occur to her, and she gave her head a small shake and him a big smile. When he returned it with only a very small, cautious one of his own, it died.

"You're serious, aren't you?" she asked.

He opened his mouth to protest her tone, then thought better of it. Instead he gave a half-hearted shrug and another "yeah."

"Ghosts. Werewolves. And demons," she listed, flatly. "You … hunt them."

He just pursed his lips and nodded, not really meeting her eyes.

"And you're serious?" she asked again.

He nodded again, meeting her eyes only to have her be the one to look away.

"You're nuts," she said with finality.

Dean tried not to bristle, tried to remind himself that this was to be expected. "I know it may sound like that, but …" He cast about for something to follow up the 'but' with. " … I'm not. I swear."

"Oh, _that_ makes me feel better," she bit out. She pushed up from the table and began to pace fitfully around the small room.

"Cassie," he started, hating that it came out as a plea.

"So what do you do with these ghosts and werewolves and demons when you find them?" she said, stopping to face him. "Put them in an ecto-containment unit in your basement? Silver bullet to the heart?"

"No," Dean spat, matching her sarcasm. Then rethought it. "Well, no to the ecto-containment unit. This isn't Ghostbusters. But the silver bullet thing …"

"_What_?" she said, for the first time looking scared rather than disbelieving.

Dean stopped, realizing that the fact that he sometimes shot people – even if they weren't quite people – was probably something he should have built up to. Before he had time to backtrack or explain or anything, however, she was talking again.

"I think you'd better go, Dean."

He winced a little, but decided maybe that wasn't such a bad idea – give her some time to process. "Uh, yeah, that's actually the other thing I wanted to tell you," he said. "Me and my Dad are leaving town tonight. We, uh, heard about a haunting up in Mansfield that we're going to go take care of. But I didn't want to leave without saying goodbye."

He paused to gauge her reaction. It wasn't what he had hoped.

"Well, you've said it," she said, stonily.

He chewed on his lower lip a moment, before charging bravely on. "I was thinking maybe, after we finish in Mansfield, I might swing back by. I'm not sure where we'll go from there, but –"

She cut him off. "I really don't think that will be necessary, Dean."

He straightened up and worked really hard for a few seconds at keeping his face blank. He was finding that to be more difficult than usual for some reason. "Cassie," he said, when he was sure his voice wasn't going to catch. The word still somehow twisted into more of a question than he'd planned on.

"What?" she said, hotly. "What else could you _possible_ have to tell me? Are you on run from the _law_? Did you used to be a _woman_? What?"

"Cassie, no. Come on," Dean said, giving in to the urge to beg. "Please, just … listen." It was all slipping away from him so fast, and he wasn't sure exactly where he'd gone wrong.

"I really think I've heard enough." She shook her head angrily and seemed to come to a decision. "I … just … Go, Dean. Please. Just leave. And don't come back."

He opened his mouth – to say what, he wasn't sure. Maybe that she was the first girl he'd ever told this to. Maybe that he loved her. Maybe that he didn't want to go at all, much less not come back. But his pride got the better of him, and he closed it again. He pushed himself up and toward the door, then made himself leave without looking back.

When he got back to the motel, his dad was packed and ready, bitching about having to wait and Dean putting some girl before the hunt.

Dean got a grim satisfaction out of being able to honestly say that it would never happen again.

_Sam_

"_Why Sam?_"

Sam woke up from the nightmare for the … well, he'd never really kept a count.

Jess. On the ceiling. In flames.

Asking him why he hadn't warned her. Why he hadn't told her. Why he'd _lied_ to her.

"_Why Sam?_" Again and again.

He got no satisfaction out of being able to honestly say that it would never happen again.

The End

Note: For those interested, here's the prompt I got from SquareFlea:

_Dean and Cassie, pre-series. Dean tells his girl the family secret. Bonus points for John finding out (his reaction is completely up to you). I'd really like to see it be done in flashbacks as Dean is telling Sam the story after Route 666. Even more bonus points if you show Sam slowly pushing Dean to tell the story, and Dean just snaps._

So. I didn't get many (read: any) of the bonus points. But I hope she liked it anyway. It was a lot of fun on my end, and I really appreciate her sharing her idea with me.

Also, on a side note, Maz (who usually very patiently edits my stories and makes it look like I can spell and hold a plot together) is packing for a six week trip out of country. So this hasn't been proofed or earned anyone's seal of approval. My apologies if anything came out garbled or just ridiculous.


End file.
